


Three Days

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [50]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip wakes up and realizes that he and everyone else on the Enterprise have been unconscious for three days—except for Mal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Days

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Trip awoke with a headache that threatened to split his brain in two. He didn't dare do anything other than groan, and even that felt like an unwise decision. "What in the h—l?" he muttered, hands moving to cradle his throbbing head.

"Trip?" said a familiar soft voice. "Are you alright?"

"No," Trip answered succinctly. "What the h—l was I drinkin' last night? Whatever it was, do _not_ let me have it ever again." The fact that he couldn't even remember a recent drinking binge didn't bother Trip too much; it hurt to remember his own _name_ at the moment.

"I think maybe we should go to Sickbay," Mal suggested, clinging to Trip as he tried to help the engineer into a sitting position.

"Yeah, I think maybe you're right," Trip admitted. Because he sure as h—l couldn't work like this. "Just hope Phlox doesn't slap me around too much—" Trip finally forced his eyes open and focused on Mal. "Oh my G-d, what happened to you?"

His pale face was covered in cuts and bruises, gashes and scrapes, the dried blood patching his skin. He stared up at Trip with mournful, damp eyes. "You wouldn't wake up," he sniffed.

"I wouldn't—what?" Trip was looking frantically around the room, searching for signs of violence, but everything was as it should be. He stood unsteadily, staggered a bit, and was caught by Mal. "Come on," Trip ordered, pulling Mal up beside him. "We're taking you to Sickbay."

Everything was all wrong. The sounds of the ship were different, quieter. They had been humming along at Warp Three when Trip had gone to bed the night before; now it seemed like they were at a dead stop. All around them crewmembers stumbled out of their own quarters, clutching aching heads, and Trip reluctantly paused to do his duty as a senior officer.

"Adams, are you okay?" He crouched down beside an ensign who had made it to her doorway before her legs gave out.

"My head hurts… sir," she mumbled.

"Yeah, mine too," Trip assured her. He glanced around and saw one of Marcus's security personnel who looked reasonably upright. "Voisin! Help her to Sickbay."

That matter attended to, Trip returned to Mal, whom he'd left leaning miserably against a wall. "Come on, buddy," he encouraged. "Looks like Doc is gonna have a lot of patients today."

A line of crewmembers trailed out the open Sickbay doors; a quick glance as he pushed past told Trip most were in the same shape he was—i.e., uncomfortable but not, to his knowledge, in danger. The medical facility was in a state of controlled chaos, crowded with listless, moaning people being scanned and administered hyposprays. After a moment of searching Trip spotted Phlox and pulled Mal over to him.

"Doc!"

"I'm afraid there _is_ a line, Commander," Phlox replied briskly, without looking up from his scanner.

"I think Mal's gonna skip to the head of that line," Trip replied evenly.

Phlox glanced at them and immediately switched his focus when he saw Mal. "What happened to him?" he asked clinically, turning his scanner on the dark-haired man.

Trip shook his head, felt a roaring in his ears that threatened to knock him off his feet, and decided to never do that again. "I don't know. I just woke up and found him like this."

"Let's get him into the imaging chamber," Phlox decided, helping Trip lie Mal down on the bed. "Are you injured in any way, Commander?"

"B---h of a headache but that's all," Trip admitted.

Phlox started to push the bed containing Mal into the chamber, but the other man wouldn't release Trip's hand. "Don't go away," he pleaded.

"It's gonna be okay, buddy," Trip assured him, stroking his hair with his free hand. His sole focus for the next thirty seconds was getting Mal calm enough that Phlox could treat him, and that Trip could leave to do his duty and check the engines. "Doc's gonna take real good care of you, and I'm gonna come back to see you as soon as I can."

Mal whimpered, but Phlox was pushing anxiously at the biobed and Trip managed to untangle their hands just before he would have been pulled in alongside his friend. "As soon as I can," he repeated to Mal, just before the gridded door slid shut in front of Mal's feet. He gave Phlox a parting nod then beat it out of Sickbay for Engineering.

Rostov staggered up to him as he headed for the warp core controls—in fact everyone Trip saw in Engineering was from Gamma shift. He hadn't gotten around to looking at a chrono yet, but it felt like more time had passed, especially judging from the itchy scruff on his chin and cheeks. Surely they should be in another shift, at least.

"You okay?" Trip asked his lieutenant.

The man started to nod, then thought better of it. "Yes, sir," he answered, in the most patently false display Trip had ever witnessed.

But he wasn't about to question it. "Good. The others?"

"I sent about half to Sickbay, sir," Rostov informed him. "I'm keeping a skeleton crew here."

Trip agreed with the decision. "I was just there, it looked like Phlox had his hands full," he warned. His personnel attended to, Trip asked his next most important question. "How are the engines?"

Together the two men climbed up to the platform before the warp core. "Everything's shut down, sir, but it seems to be in good working order," Rostov told him. "And according to the logs, someone's been doing the critical maintenance for the last three days."

Trip jerked his head up to stare at the man and regretted it when a pair of Rostovs danced before his eyes. He gripped the panel tightly until he'd regained his balance. "What do you mean, three days?"

"That's how long we've been unconscious, sir," Rostov explained. "Or, at least how long it's been since I logged my check of the plasma injectors, which is the last thing I remember doing."

"D—n," Trip muttered, turning back to the readouts. "Guess I shoulda looked at a calendar." He paused for a moment, considering his next orders. "I think I saw Hess in Sickbay. Call her and have her round up enough personnel to man Engineering while you guys get some rest. Been here for three days, so I guess you're due," he added with a tight grin. "Tell her I want every diagnostic run, and I want every one of our people accounted for. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Trip eased himself down the stairs. "I'm gonna go, you know, put some clothes on." Because his t-shirt was a little holey and his sweatpants a bit baggy, and frankly he was beginning to notice a slight draft. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

Actually it was more like seven, and he could see his orders had already been carried out. Hess was at the warp core, considerably more steady than Rostov or Trip for that matter, and every face Trip saw now was concentrating more fiercely on the computer screens before them than on their own discomfort.

"Sir," she began quickly, "the Captain just called. I told him everything looked fine so far but you were having us run the diagnostics."

"Good." Trip pressed the nearest comm button. "Tucker to Archer."

" _Archer here_ ," came the reply after a moment. " _Where are you?_ "

"Engineering," Trip told him. "You okay?"

" _About the same as everyone else_ ," Archer responded sardonically. " _You?_ "

"No worse."

" _Senior staff on the Bridge in twenty minutes_ ," Archer added in a more businesslike tone.

Trip felt a twinge of guilt. "Think we could make it Sickbay?" he requested. "Mal got himself worked over pretty good, I don't know how, but he didn't look too hot."

" _Sickbay it is, then_ ," Archer agreed.

"Thanks. Tucker out." With that Trip went back to his diagnostics, hoping he would actually have something useful to report in twenty minutes.

 

The ship docked to _Enterprise_ 's starboard airlock had been surprisingly easy to miss, until T'Pol caught it on her initial scan of the ship. Well, it was a rather _small_ vessel, to be fair.

"Biosigns?" Archer asked, standing just outside the airlock with his makeshift security team.

"None that I am detecting," the First Officer reported, glancing at her hand scanner.

"Well let's open it then," Archer decided. He, Marcus, and Travis raised their phase pistols in anticipation as T'Pol keyed the entry sequence. The airlock rolled open with a hiss—but no strange and terrifying alien beings leaped out at them. No soft and cuddly ones either, for that matter.

The four officers entered the ship cautiously, sweeping high and low while T'Pol scanned. "Any indication of the species?" Archer prompted.

"No," she replied. "I do not recognize either the configuration or the language."

They made it to the navigation area of the ship without seeing or otherwise detecting any lifeforms. Archer was satisfied none were aboard—which begged the obvious question, then where _were_ they?

"I've already got patrols sweeping the ship, Captain," Marcus reminded him. "Anyone who's not supposed to be here, we'll find them."

"Internal sensors indicated no unauthorized beings," T'Pol countered. "It is possible this species may have the ability to evade detection by our equipment."

"Well whoever they are, I want them found," Archer commanded, in a tone of barely leashed anger. "I want to know what the h—l they've done to my ship and my crew!" After a moment he added to T'Pol, "As soon as Hoshi's able I want translations—get their logs, whatever you can. But I want Security with anyone on this ship at all times." He glanced up and saw that Marcus was already talking into his communicator. "Have a guard posted at the airlock," he continued to T'Pol. "No one goes in or out without my permission."

"Yes, sir," she responded.

"Sir." Marcus had just closed his communicator. "Cargo Bay Two. Looks like we found some of our aliens."

"Travis, you and T'Pol stick together. Work on this ship," Archer reiterated, rapidly moving back towards the airlock with Marcus. "We'll be in Cargo Bay Two."

 

"So when your man said they'd found the aliens," Archer remarked dryly a few minutes later, standing in Cargo Bay Two, "I guess I was imagining they'd be _alive_."

"Sorry, sir," Marcus replied.

Stretched out on the floor of the large room were the three alien corpses—yellowish skin, large eyes, facial ridges, unusually long arms. Certainly nothing that looked familiar to Archer.

"Can you tell _how_ they died?" he prompted, starting to circle one body.

"If you wouldn't mind, sir," Marcus warned, stopping him. "I recommend this be treated as a crime scene. We shouldn't touch anything."

Archer backed away, though he'd had no intention of actually _touching_ anything. Instead he tried to observe from afar. "Do you think that orange substance is their blood?" If so, at least two were fairly covered in it.

"So it would appear," Marcus concurred, staring at his scanner. "It looks like all three died violent deaths, sir. Phlox will have to do autopsies to be certain, of course, but my initial scans indicate this one has a broken neck." He nodded at the body on the far end. "This one has a sizable dent in the back of his head. Not sure about the third—possibly internal bleeding."

"Or external," Archer muttered, looking at the sticky, drying puddle of orange surrounding the body. "But they didn't die where they fell," he realized suddenly, a chill running down his spine. "They're too neatly laid out."

"Someone must have arranged the bodies after they died," Marcus speculated.

"But who?" Archer paced across part of the cargo bay. "Another alien? Someone on the crew? And why did they die—were they fighting each other?" He knew Marcus couldn't answer those questions—yet, anyway. "I want every member of the crew questioned," he ordered resolutely. "Where they were, what they remember. And post a guard outside this door, too."

"Yes, sir."

Archer pressed the comm button on the wall. "Archer to Sickbay. Doctor, can you come down to Cargo Bay Two?"

" _I hate to be brusque, Captain_ ," Phlox replied, " _but is this urgent? I am somewhat busy at the moment_."

Archer looked at the motionless bodies. Well, _they_ sure weren't going anywhere. "No, it can wait," he decided. "I'll be there in a few minutes for the senior staff meeting. Archer out."

 

Trip had taken to glancing constantly at the chrono now. He might have been making up for never checking it earlier, or he might have been unconsciously counting down the minutes until he had to attend the staff meeting—or until he could see Mal again. He wasn't really in a position to stop and muse over it at the moment, anyway. Finally he reached an appropriate stopping point in his diagnostics, collected the data, and reminded Hess he would be in Sickbay.

_I'm comin' to see you, baby,_ Trip thought, consciously sending the message to Mal. _Leavin' Engineering now._

There was still a crowd in Sickbay when Trip reached it, but it seemed to be turning over quickly now. Two of Phlox's assistants were scanning and injecting the remaining crewmembers with assembly line efficiency. Trip didn't see Mal anywhere but presumed he was at the back, in a quieter corner beyond a privacy curtain.

Before Trip could reach him, however, he came up short, with Phlox blocking his path and sticking a scanner in his chest. "Um, hey, Doc," Trip greeted awkwardly.

"Commander." Phlox examined his results, apparently found them not unusual, and promptly pressed a hypospray against Trip's neck. Sweet relief blossomed through the engineer's once-throbbing head—he had gotten so used to the pain he almost felt like something was missing without it.

"Better?" Phlox inquired unnecessarily.

"H—l yeah," Trip replied emphatically. He was about to ask what was going on, hoping Phlox had more answers than he'd been able to put together in Engineering—but then he figured he might as well wait for Archer to ask at the staff meeting, and anyway he had a more pressing concern. "So how's Mal doing?"

Phlox began to lead him to the back of Sickbay. "Rather… unsettled, I'm afraid," he admitted. "His injuries are largely superficial and will heal soon, however."

"Did he say anything about how he got them in the first place?" Trip persisted.

"He hasn't said much of anything," Phlox told him. "Most of my patients today have merely experienced headaches"—Trip wouldn't have classified his skull-splitting migraine as a 'mere' headache, personally—"but there have occasionally been more serious injuries, due to falls when they were rendered unconscious, for example." He paused outside a curtained-off section. "Mal's case is rather different. Have you showered today, Commander?"

The change in subject was so abrupt that for a moment Trip didn't catch it. "I—uh, no, I haven't," he said to Phlox. "Are you sayin' I should?"

He was trying to inject a bit of humor into the proceedings, but Phlox only smiled blandly. "Have you washed your hands today?"

Now Trip's mystification was beginning to turn into annoyance, especially as Phlox seemed determined to have his answers before Trip could see Mal. "What the h—l's _that_ got to do with anything?"

"It's a simple enough question," the doctor commented.

Trip tried to think back. "Yeah, I guess I washed 'em when I went back to our cabin to get dressed. Why?"

"May I see them, please?"

Trip let out an impatient breath and allowed Phlox to inspect his hands. "Say, Mal's not, I don't know, bein' kept somewhere germ-free 'cause there's something wrong with him, is he?" Trip asked suddenly, with concern.

"No, nothing like that," Phlox assured him, releasing Trip's hands. "A simple hand-washing would hardly be sufficient to allow you access, were that the case," he added informatively.

Trip narrowed his eyes at the physician. "Well then what are you askin' me all these questions for?"

Phlox's tone became more somber. "Mal's injuries are consistent with a physical altercation of some kind."

Trip stared at him. "What—you mean he got in a fight? Geez, Doc, I thought we were all unconscious."

"I have not yet fully analyzed the agent that caused the unconsciousness to occur," Phlox told him. "It is entirely possible that some individuals might have had an unusual reaction to it. Periods of wakefulness when they may have experienced personality changes, memory loss—"

Trip finally saw what Phlox was getting at and his expression was enough to make the doctor cease his explanation. "You think I—I would _never_ hurt Mal," Trip asserted fiercely.

"Not consciously, no," the doctor agreed, not backing away from his suggestion. "But you needn't worry, Commander; you show no signs of injury yourself. It was merely a theory."

Trip was still discomfited by the very idea. "Well, I hope you're doin' hand checks on everyone," he grumbled. "Can I see him now or what?"

"By all means." The doctor gave Trip a more genuine smile. "Perhaps you'll be able to persuade him to eat something. Otherwise I'll have to insert an IV; he's quite malnourished."

Trip nodded and finally stepped around the curtain. Mal was lying in bed at a gentle incline, the lights dimmed above him. One eye was covered by a temperature-regulating gel patch, likely treating a black eye; the rest of his face was haphazardly adorned with bandages, stitches, and shallow scratches. The only other visible injury was one hand that was swaddled in a polymer cast; but Trip had the feeling there were several others.

"Hey, buddy," he whispered gently. "You're not asleep, are you?"

Mal twitched, agitated, and tried to turn his head toward Trip's voice. "Trip! I can't see you!"

The engineer happened to be standing on the side with the bad eye and grabbed Mal's hand before he could reach up and remove the gel patch. "Let's just leave that there for right now, okay?" he suggested, sitting down on a nearby stool. "You know I'm right here." He curled his fingers around Mal's. The other man sniffled, tears spilling over from his uninjured eye. "Shh, shh, it's okay, darlin'," Trip assured him. "You're gonna be okay."

"You wouldn't wake up," Mal repeated plaintively, squeezing Trip's hand with no intention of letting go.

"I know, darlin', but I'm awake now," Trip murmured, reaching his free hand up to thread through Mal's hair. The other man must have awakened before Trip did, he decided. "How long wouldn't I wake up for?" A few minutes? An hour or two?

"Three days," Mal mumbled, and Trip frowned at him.

"It would appear that whatever agent affected the rest of the crew, did not affect Viridian physiology," Phlox clarified quietly from the side.

"You were the only one awake on the ship for three days?" Trip felt his heart constrict. "G-d, that must have been terrifying, darlin'."

Mal nodded shallowly. "No one would wake up. Only Porthos, and the doctor's creatures, and the animals in the Xenozoology labs… I fed them," he added, his tone a touch brighter. "And made sure the plants were watered."

Trip found a smile for him. "Well that was real helpful of you, buddy. I bet you're the one who did the critical maintenance in Engineering, too."

Mal nodded. "I didn't know what else to do," he added, voice breaking again.

"No, you did a real good job, baby," Trip soothed, trying to project an aura of calm and comfort that he utterly didn't feel. Finding oneself in such a scenario could easily lead the most well-trained officers to panic and despair; for Mal, who thrived on Trip's attention and depended on his support—well, Trip couldn't even imagine what he must have felt… especially when he couldn't do anything to help Trip, or anyone else.

Phlox caught Trip's brooding eye and gave him a significant look, and the engineer suddenly remembered his mission. "Hey, buddy, you must be pretty hungry, huh?" he began leadingly. Mal shook his head tightly. "Aw, come on, now. Wouldn't you like some chocolate pudding, maybe? Or some applesauce? Hey, maybe I could even get Chef to rustle up a little pineapple for you…" All his suggestions were met with terse and miserable rejection. With a sigh Trip looked back up at Phlox. "I think you better just put the IV in, Doc," he decided with resignation. Phlox nodded and went to fetch supplies.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, baby," Trip repeated to Mal as fresh tears appeared. "I'm fine, everyone's fine now." Well, except for Mal, that is. "So what happened to you, anyway, buddy? How'd you get all busted up?" Mal sniffed. Trip tried to give him a grin. "I know Porthos gets a little grouchy when he doesn't get fed on time…"

For a moment Trip thought Mal was going to answer him—but of course Phlox reappeared with the IV supplies right then. "Commander, I'll need that hand," he pointed out gently, indicating the one Trip clutched.

Mal whimpered when he tried to free himself and move. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm just comin' right over here." Trip quickly rounded the foot of the bed and came up on Mal's other side. "Now you can see me, so that's better, isn't it?" The fingers of Mal's broken hand twitched and he winced. "I'm just gonna have to find some other place to hold on to you, I guess," Trip told him. His upper arm looked relatively undamaged, so Trip rested one hand there and set the other back to smoothing Mal's hair. "That's alright, isn't it?" He leaned forward, consciously not watching Phlox work. There was a reason Trip had gone into engineering, not medicine. "Now you were gonna tell me just how you got hurt."

Mal turned his head more into Trip's touch. "It was the yellow aliens," he began enigmatically.

"The _what_?"

"Commander." Trip looked up at the sound of Archer's voice. The Captain peered around the edge of the curtain, frowning at Mal. "What happened to him?"

"That is what I'm tryin' to find out," Trip replied, modulating his tone to sound calmer than he felt. "Guess he was awake while the rest of us were snoozin'."

"Oh really," Archer said, in a curious tone of voice.

"I fed Porthos," Mal told him.

"Thanks." Trip gave him a look that said, _A little more would be appreciated._ "Um… thanks a lot," Archer reiterated, and Trip rolled his eyes. Mal seemed to accept the rather distracted praise, however. "Uh, Trip, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Trip glanced at Mal, who protested the mere suggestion of his departure. "Um—would it be okay if we stayed here, Captain? He's pretty upset right now."

"I'd imagine," Archer commented cryptically. "Alright." He leaned beyond the curtain for a moment and gestured, and soon T'Pol, Marcus, and Phlox filled the enclosed space.

"The engines," Archer began.

Trip nodded at the data pad he'd left on the table on the other side of the bed and T'Pol retrieved it, handing it to Archer. "Impulse and warp were completely shut down," he reported. "No damage, though. Looks like the regular routines were triggered but there's no record of my people doing it."

"That would be consistent with the log information Ensign Sato and I have been able to retrieve from the alien vessel," T'Pol confirmed. "It seems they were able to tap into our systems and shut down—"

"Alien vessel?" Trip interrupted, staring at her. "What alien vessel?"

Archer smirked mirthlessly. "Might want to look out a starboard window sometime, Trip. We're docked with a small craft of unknown origin." The Captain was looking at Mal now. "I understand you never blacked out," Archer said to him. "Maybe you can tell us about the three aliens in the cargo bay."

Trip had a bad feeling about this. "Um, what's the matter, Captain, isn't the UT working for them?" he asked, distractingly.

Archer gave him a look. "I'm afraid they don't have much to say," he replied, bone-dry. "They're dead." Trip squeezed Mal's arm lightly, unsurprised by Archer's answer. "According to Marcus, they all died violently. But I'd like official autopsies right away," he added, with a glance at Phlox.

"They were bad," Mal said suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. He sounded neither defensive nor regretful. "They were going to hurt Trip."

"You were able to communicate with them?" T'Pol inquired.

"No," Mal told her. "I just _knew_ they were bad."

"I hope you've got something a little more concrete than _that_ ," Archer remarked evenly.

"An unknown alien vessel renders the crew unconscious, shuts down our engines, boards the ship," Marcus summarized. "I'd call that reason enough to be suspicious of their motives, sir."

"We need not assume this encounter was intended as an attack," T'Pol tried, but even Archer wasn't buying that one.

"You think knocking everyone out and taking a self-guided tour was just their way of saying 'hello'?" he asked T'Pol sharply.

"Not all cultures respect the same boundaries as humans," T'Pol pointed out coolly, "just as humans have offended some cultures who prefer to remain more isolated. It is _possible_ that this species was merely curious about us." Vulcans weren't known for giving into peer pressure. But under the incredulous stares of everyone else in the room even T'Pol had to add, "Possible, but unlikely."

"They were bad," Mal said again, firm in his conviction. Trip patted his arm. "I did _try_ to talk to them," he continued. "I wanted them to make everyone wake back up, and then go away."

"Guess that's not what _they_ wanted, huh?" Trip surmised sympathetically.

"I think they were rather surprised to see someone was awake," Mal added.

Trip grinned suddenly. "Bet they were downright _shocked_ when that someone kicked their a-s."

"Commander," Archer admonished. "There are three dead people in my cargo bay."

Trip tried to look appropriately respectful of the lost lives. Mal didn't bother. " _Bad_ people," he restated. "They were going to hurt Trip."

"Just me, or everyone?" the engineer queried.

Mal shrugged as much as he was able. "I don't know." And he didn't really care.

Archer took a breath and let it out. "When did the aliens board the ship, Mal?"

"Not very long after I noticed no one would wake up," the injured man replied.

"And when did you—kill them?"

"Not long after that… maybe four hours."

"Well what took ya?" Trip blurted without thinking.

"Commander!" Archer chastised again.

"Well, come on, Captain," Trip protested. "Mal probably just saved all our hides from these b-----ds. He oughta be gettin' a parade, not an interrogation!"

"How about a sucker instead?" Mal whispered hopefully to Trip.

"He wants a sucker," Trip repeated sardonically. "That's a cold-blooded killer if I ever saw one."

"I didn't _say_ that," Archer pointed out icily. "Just that at the moment we have no way of knowing what these aliens' intentions were—and neither did Mal."

"If I might make an observation, Captain," Phlox put in. "We have in the past witnessed numerous occasions on which Mal was able to anticipate and prevent harm to Commander Tucker, if allowed to do so, through some kind of psychic or telepathic means as yet unexamined."

"Not to mention one very important thing," Trip noted.

"And that is?" Archer prompted.

"Once those fellas were dead, Mal was _really_ all alone on the ship—with no way of knowin' when or even _if_ the rest of us would ever wake up." Trip hated to be so blunt about it in front of Mal, who'd just spent three days wandering a silent ship and nursing his own injuries, but he needed to make Jon understand. "He definitely wouldn't have killed them unless he felt he had to."

They were all quiet for a long moment, long enough for the beep of the comm to make them all jump. " _Sato to Archer_ ," came Hoshi's voice.

Archer pressed the button on the wall, grateful for the distraction. "Go ahead, Hoshi."

" _Sir, I've translated a little more of the alien logs_ ," the Comm Officer reported. " _I think this species calls themselves the… Charnush?_ "

Archer caught the almost-expression on T'Pol's face. "Ring a bell?"

"Marauders," she reported, after a thoughtful moment. "Notorious, but extremely mysterious. I was unaware they operated in this sector."

"Vulcan ships have encountered them before?" the Captain pressed.

"On occasion. The last Vulcan ship believed to have been attacked by these… pirates was found stripped and listing in an uninhabited system."

"What happened to the crew?" Trip asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"They had been… expelled from the ship," T'Pol answered flatly. "Investigation showed no defensive wounds, as I recall."

"They'd been rendered unconscious, so they couldn't fight back," Archer surmised.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow in confirmation. "The Vulcan High Command would be extremely interested in any information we could provide about this species and their mode of operation," she added.

"With three corpses and a ship I think they'll get plenty," Trip observed.

"Thanks to Mal," Archer tacked on. Three dead people were still three dead people… but he wasn't going to apologize for thinking, _Better them than us._ Especially since it seemed like these Charnush had a similar fate in mind for _Enterprise_ 's crew.

Trip grinned at Mal. "Hear that, buddy? You're a hero! You saved the ship."

"How lovely," Mal replied, finally starting to sound like his old self. "Can I have my sucker now, please?"

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I got this general idea from somewhere else…


End file.
